Jordon is a bit disappointed that the commotion only turned out to be some two-bit thugs, but he does enjoy a good ass-whoopin'. He moves to get a front row seat of the action, and impersonates a sports announcer, shouting with a ridiculous accent, "Alright, 'e gave 'im the left hook. Looks like he ain't takin' that one sittin'. Oh, and 'ere comes a piece! Looks like we have a dirty fighter in the ring!"

Moving to the side of the combatants, then using Inspire Courage with Perform (act). 16/17 rounds remaining.

Rekkstuff VanHalen looks at his beautiful, scratched guitar. They had scratched his baby. The fact that it was the guy's armor doing it and not them didn't matter. They had scratched his baby. He feels himself move out of the way of one of their stabs, and he moved a little to the side. Then, he takes the initiative to brain the one that was still standing with his guitar. "You scratched my baby! I am going to end you, you dirty son of a pop singer!"

5-foot-step out of being flanked while keeping both adjacent to him for crowd control, and attacking the guy who's still standing.

"Oh, and 'e's out cold! Would ya look at that, folks! A real haymaker, that was!" Jordon stops the announcing after that and moves over to the thug on the ground, standing over him with his arms crossed. He puts on the meanest look he can and waits for the guy to recover from the spell (assuming no one kills him before that), at which point he says rather crossly, "And what the Abyss are YOU laughing at? Get outta here, you stupid lout!"

I'll roll for intimidation. Basically, just trying to get this one to run off without a fight. If someone else is joining in the intimidation, this'll just be an Aid Another onto their roll.

Roger slowly walks over to the one he cast against. He squats down, waiting for him to recover. Once he does, he's going to say: "Do you see the mistake you've made? Now I want you to get up, run away, and be sure that if I ever see you do anything like this again, it won't end so well for you. Now go home, and get yourself out of this whole gang business."

The punk on the ground continues laughing, but gradually phases into halting sobs. He staggers to his feet and stammers, "Y-yes sir." In a flash, he darts out of the alleyway and into the shadows.

The lump on the ground stands up. It's a gnomish man in well tailored merchant's clothes, though they've been torn and stained by the beating.

"You saved my life!" he cries, then his eyes grow even wider. "You're Squealy Nord! I saw your show, and it was fantastic!" He shakes everyone's hand in turn, introducing himself separately each time. "Vingimon L. Barrigan, but you can call me Vinny."

When he finishes making the rounds through the band, he exclaims. "I owe you my life. I promise I'll make this up to you!"

Before anyone can reply, he runs off, laughing and jumping down the alleyway until he rounds a corner and disappears.

Jordon stares after the gnome, taken by surprise by his spunk. However, he runs off before Jordon can say anything in response. A few seconds after the gnome is gone, Jordon says, "Ahhh, so no drummer? Bummer." He seems genuinely disappointed.

"...Dangit. Scratched my guitar and halfway to killed a guy and we didn't even get a drummer out of it. Still, it's good to save a fan. I guess." Rekkstuff VanHalen summarizes while seeming almost disappointed. He takes a deep breath or six as he recovers from his outburst. He then casts Prestidigitation to clean the blood off of his guitar prior to looking over the downed man to figure out if he's dead or just seriously injured. Also to see if he is carrying anything.

You recognize Vinny as a local merchant who specializes in questionable business deals, with even more questionable results. He's considered mostly harmless by the citizens of the area, although that's more than they can say about any food he might be vending in the street.

Yeah, I shoulda specified that I meant the downed thug. Good thing I don't have to waste healer's kit uses on him.

Seeing that the man will live through his injuries, Jordon stands and, after Rekkstuff takes the guy's stuff, says, "Well, guess we're done here. What do you guys think about having an audition for a new drummer?" As he starts to head off.

"Seems the gnome weren't much to write home about neither. Some sort of local con man" Squealy grunts in support of Tobar's words "Who nabbed the take from the gig? - surely we got at least a shallow night of drink and debauchery before we start thinking about a new drummer?"

I have it, it just takes ten bloody minutes to cast. Also took jury rig.

"Thanks, man. I owe ya'." Rekkstuff replies gratefully. He takes the armor with him, and will be donning it as soon as is convenient. He will also be casting mending on his guitar as soon as is convenient as well.

When you step into the tavern, you find it mostly full with villagers trying to stretch out the celebration as long as they can. Burly men chat amiably at the bar, while young couples laugh and shout at the dimly lit tables in the center of the room.

In the far corner of the dining area, a diverse group of young men stands up: a human, dwarf, gnome, and half-orc, along with a beautiful elven girl. Their clothing is as stylishly eccentric as your own. The human steps forward, dyed black hair covering one eye, and begins clapping. Very. Slowly. When the rest of the bar is quiet, he calls out to you.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the Mealy Gourds. I have to congratulate you; I always knew your music was painful to listen to, but you really took it to new levels tonight. Actually killing a bandmate with your second-rate piano playing is quite the accomplishment."

Taking his hand from his side and in an overly exaggerated gesture stroking his own mustache Tobar responds "Well if it isn't the boys of The Stained Pantaloon Accident, see that the elvish lass is still the closest to a beard of any of you... just keep combing that fringe down m'boy it'll reach your chin in another few months."

Let me know if we need to start rolling for a Yo Mama's so... competition :P

"Come on guys," Victor says to his agitated bandmates, "Let's not waste anymore time on these losers. We had a casualty mid-performance and STILL won the gold instead of Aqua Teen Fuzzy-Lip Force here. They're worth less of our time than the sponsors of tonight's drinks."

With that, Victor saunters over to the bar and orders drinks for himself, his bandmates, and whoever randomly happens to be on his right and left at the bar.

The leader of the Stained Mustache Experiment flicks his hair out of his eyes and points accusingly at all of you.

"That prize money belonged to us! Our performance was clearly superior to your uninspired, shallow, corporate sell-out drivel. You only won because you played along with the system. The System. You disgust us!"

Jordon steps up and imitates the way the moustacheless singer is talking, flicking an imaginary emover as he stands in a girly pose and says, "That prize money belonged to us! Our performance was clearly superior to your whiny, emo, wrist-cutting cryfest. You only lost because no one likes your terrible hair. Your terrible hair. You disgust us!"

Ignoring the irrelevant bleating of Captain Emo, Victor looks in the direction of the rival band's elf girl and gestures to the empty seat next to him at the bar.

"Got a drink here with your name on it, little lady." he says with a smile. "It's on me - or rather, it's on the street thug I took out with my bare hands." Victor winks and flexes a bit, then continues: "Come on, a girl like you should be hanging with the winners."